


War Wounds

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [21]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, M/M, War sucks, and SMUT, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of the Five Armies. Or, how the Durins get out alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Wounds

Bilbo awoke with the most crushing headache he had ever had in his entire life. Before he could even open his eyes, he was wondering just what kind of ale they'd been serving at the Green Dragon the night before. Then his body registered freezing stone beneath him, and he realised that he was outside. In winter. 

'What am I doing falling asleep outside?' he thought to himself, and that was when the noise filtered into his mind, the shrieks of the Eagles and Bats, the yells of pain and triumph, the harsh clanging of steel, the wet moans of the wounded and dying. 

He was on Ravenhill. The battle was still raging below him, but where was Thorin? Bilbo had warned him about the trap, but it had been too late...too late to save Fili, and the nausea of concussion in his stomach roared to life when the memory came. The memory of the golden prince, the Dwarf with the brightest smile Bilbo had ever seen, the memory of Azog holding him high, stabbing him and throwing him off the tower like so much refuse. 

He'd turned then, pulling Sting out of the scabbard, his legs shaky and his head spinning. Then came the bats and then Orcs, and then...then Dwalin, from out of nowhere calling at him to duck, taking out Orc after Orc with his massive axe. He'd thrown stones and then. Then what?

He must have fallen, he'd hit his head. He cracked his eyes open, blinking in the harsh light, pushing himself up off the ground. He seemed to be all right, he did not feel blood anywhere, his limbs were moving, however slowly. He pushed them harder, standing even as his eyes regained their focus, taking in the area around him. There were no more Orcs, but there were sounds of a fight, coming from...there. 

Thorin was below him, on the frozen river, locked in a battle to the death with Azog. Azog, who was above him, slashing wildly at Thorin, who was only just managing to avoid the blows. Bilbo ran, slipping the ring on as he went, knowing instinctively that if Azog saw him, he would probably die. 

He was so close, so close, but there was Azog, his massive blade poised over Thorin's chest, held up only by Thorin's grip on his sword, a sword Bilbo recognized but did not have time to ponder further. Thorin was losing, Bilbo could see the muscles of his arms shaking as he neared, he knew that he only had seconds left to help. Seconds before it would be too late. 

He slid past them, the ice slippery under his feet, drawing near at last, as Azog's blade brushed Thorin's chest. He screamed his fear and rage, stabbing Sting as deep into Azog's side as he could. Azog's scream of rage brought a fresh flood of pain roaring though Bilbo's head, but it had been enough. Azog had pulled back, releasing the pressure on Thorin's sword, which had spun through the air, stabbing up and through Azog's armour, which was clearly no match for an Elven forged blade such as Orcrist. 

Bilbo pulled the ring off, watching stunned as Azog fell to the side, dead, but Thorin rose up, still alive, a slash across his forehead but his chest intact. 

“Bilbo!” he breathed, his chest rising and falling in harsh pants as the adrenaline faded. 

“I'm here, I'm fine,” Bilbo said, slumping back on the ice as his head throbbed anew. 

“You came out of nowhere,” Thorin said, looking him over with wide eyes. “You saved my life. I thought the only way to kill him was to let him stab me.”

“I know, I...I could almost see the wheels in your mind turning.” Bilbo said with a wry grin, all the events of the last few moments catching up with him suddenly. 

Thorin knelt before him, taking his aching head in cold, filthy hands and kissing him, hungrily, desperately, holding him close. When Thorin released him at last they rose to their feet, Thorin pulling both swords out of the corpse beside them, handing Sting to Bilbo as he stared in wonder at Orcrist. 

“Where did that come from?” Bilbo asked. “I thought the Elves had it.”

“They did,” Thorin said. “But then, there it was, embedded in the Orc that stood above me, at the edge of the falls. I'd lost my sword, there was no way I would have survived if it weren't for...it was the Elf prince. Thranduil's son.”

“Really?”

“I saw him below me, as I got up, but then Azog was there...”

“Yeah,” Bilbo said, stunned at Thorin's good fortune. He would have to remember to thank the Elf when he saw him. After the battle. 

The stood over the battlefield, the entire scene spread beneath them. They could see the ebb and flow of the battle, and Bilbo wondered honestly if this was it, if they were going to lose, but then the tide turned and the Orcs were washed away, the bats fleeing under the onslaught of the Eagles and there...

“Look!” Bilbo exclaimed, wincing anew at the pain in his head. “It's Beorn!” 

“He's spectacular,” Thorin agreed. “All the more when he's not chasing us!”

Bilbo couldn't help a chuckle, but then the reality of the situation crashed down on him, even as it sank into Thorin's mind. 

“We need to find Kili,” Thorin said. “Now.” 

“He'll be on the tower, the one...”

“I know,” Thorin said grimly, turning and running, and Bilbo hoped they were fast enough, that they would find Kili alive, though Bilbo's hope for Fili had all but been extinguished. He followed Thorin, determined to do what he could, Sting in his hand and a renewed fire in his eyes. 

Thorin was alive. 

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Kili was alive as well. The Elf Captain, Tauriel, had followed him up onto Ravenhill, joining him in battle with Bolg, spawn of Azog. It had been a very close thing, Bilbo had learned later, but in the end, Bolg had tumbled off the cliff, and had met his demise under the knife of Legolas, which Bilbo learned was the name of the Elf prince who had saved Thorin's life. 

The battle was not without cost, however, as it appeared that Kili had a broken arm and a deep wound across his leg, which had been bleeding freely when Thorin and Bilbo had arrived. 

Dwalin and Balin had found them then, and in a flurry of activity, Dwalin had carried Kili back down to the gates of the mountain, where the healing tents were no doubt doing a brisk business. Tauriel went with them, and Bilbo followed, but as he reached the base of the tower a shout was torn through him, the memory of Fili falling crashing into his mind, and he turned and ran to the place where he knew that Fili lay, a shard of hope bursting inside him. It was hopeless, it had to be hopeless, and there he was, a pool of blood spreading out from his body as he lay slumped on his side at the base of a snowdrift.

“He's here!” Bilbo yelled, with no idea to whom he was calling, to whomever had followed, he supposed. Suddenly, from a door on the other side of the tower came Thranduil, his armour splattered with the blood of many Orcs, by the looks of it, though he was hardly mussed otherwise. 

He reached Fili at the same time that Bilbo did, reaching out immediately to feel his neck, no doubt checking for the pulse that Bilbo was certain would not be there. He felt the others come up behind him, Balin choking out a sob as Thranduil looked up, his eyes wide. 

“He's alive,” he said quietly, his hands running across Fili's prone form, feeling for his injuries were, if Bilbo's guess was correct. He felt Thorin's presence beside him, a strong hand grasping his shoulder, for Bilbo's support or Thorin's, he wasn't sure. 

“How is he alive?” Bilbo asked, his stomach in his throat as Thranduil turned Fili over gently onto his stomach, feeling across his back, finding the split mail over the oozing wound there. 

“This wound is deep, but not fatal. He has lost a lot of blood, if the snow is any indication, but he is not beyond help.” Thranduil ripped a piece of cloth from his own robes, padding it up to put pressure on the wound, before turning Fili again, just as gently, onto his back. 

“We'll need a litter for him, he cannot be carried as his brother,” Thranduil said, looking up at the shocked Dwarves who had gathered behind them. “Send the fastest runner, he'll need to get off this ice soon, he is so cold as to be hypothermic. The cold may have slowed his bleeding, which has no doubt saved his life, but he will need to be warmed up quickly. The freeze could still take him if we are not swift.”

Nori hadn't even waited for Thranduil to finish speaking, turning and running for the stairs as fast as he could go. 

“He fell,” Thorin said, falling to his knees beside Bilbo, the hand that was not squeezing Bilbo's shoulder as if it was a lifeline reached out hesitantly to touch Fili's cheek. “He fell so far, from the tower. How could he have survived?”

“The snow broke his fall. I think he's shattered his arm, and his shoulder is most certainly dislocated. He has several broken ribs, and I would not be surprised if he has been concussed as well, although his low body temperature may he the reason he is unconscious still.” Thranduil looked up at Thorin, his eyes clear and earnest. “He may be bleeding inside. I will not lie, he is gravely injured, but there is hope for your heir, Thorin Oakenshield. If you allow me to heal him.”

“Yes,” Thorin cried, without hesitation. “Yes, please, whatever you can do.” He looked from Thranduil to Fili with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Here on this ice, there is not much that can be done,” Thranduil admitted. “But I can try to heal his insides, and dull his pain.”

“Anything,” Thorin agreed, and Bilbo was surprised at how readily Thorin trusted Thranduil with the life of his nephew. Then again, they had come to terms before the battle, they had fought together, and Thorin was, quite frankly, desperate. 

Thranduil set to chanting, the words slipping out of his mouth in a long, unbroken string, words that Bilbo did not understand, a language that was no doubt older and less well known than the Sindarin that was commonly spoken among the Elves of Middle Earth. Bilbo knew some Sindarin, but this, this was beyond him. 

“Quenya,” Bilbo whispered, certain that he was correct. It was no doubt the ancient language of the High Elves, the Noldor, and as Thranduil chanted he began to glow, the light that surrounded him and then Fili was almost too bright to look at, but Bilbo could not tear his eyes away. 

Then it was over, and Thranduil was using more strips of fabric to secure Fili's arm to his side. Fili groaned in pain when his shattered arm was lifted to make way for the sling, and Bilbo let out a rush of breath, even as Thorin cried out beside him, leaning down and pressing his head to Fili's gently, whispering frantic words in Khuzdul, his tears slipping from his eyes to land on Fili's face. 

Then the litter arrived, and from there everything became a blur. Bilbo walked down to the main field, leaning heavily on Balin, though he could not remember when the Dwarf had reached out and gripped his arm. He must have stumbled, though he couldn't be sure. 

 

* * *

 

Bilbo sat down on the cot in the silence of their tent as day faded into night, the light of the lantern hanging from a support beam casting shadows in the room as Thorin entered carefully, a jug of warm water and a basin in his hands. The basin was filled with linen, soap, a sachet of herbs, and a topical salve that Oin had insisted he apply to Bilbo's head wound.

His nephews were safe. Kili was awake, his arm in a splint and his leg stitched neatly. He was no doubt smiling besottedly at the red headed Elf who had followed him, from Mirkwood to Laketown, up to Ravenhill and down it again, refusing to leave his side. Thorin would have liked to grumble more at the very idea of his nephew in love with an Elf, but when that Elf had saved his life so many times, and had shown her very good taste in loving him back, well, Thorin couldn't bring himself to begrudge such a gift to Kili. 

It seemed that Mahal had known what he was doing, in sending a One for Kili who had the skill and tenacity to protect him from his incurable recklessness. 

Fili, meanwhile, was out of danger, his body temperature had steadily increased and the wound in his back had been repaired without issue. His arm was as stable as Thranduil could make it, his shoulder relocated in its socket. Fili had screamed when it had been pulled back into place, but he had not yet woken. Thorin was worried about him, but Oin and Thranduil had both assured him that nothing more was to be done, and that when Fili woke, he would make a full recovery. He may never regain the fill strength of his arm, but he would be able to use it to its full capability. 

He just needed to wake up. Thorin pushed his worry aside, knowing that nothing he did would change the outcome. Everything that could be done for Fili was being done. 

Thorin whispered yet another prayer to Mahal that he had brought them safely through the day. There had been so many close calls, so many moments when one or all of them might have fallen, but the line of Durin had prevailed. 

The hardest part to face was the fact that he owed the lives of both his nephews, and his own life, to Elves. Mirkwood Elves. Fili's life had been spared by none other than Thranduil himself. His life had been saved by Thranduil's son, Legolas. Only the knowledge that his family was safe had taken the sting out of that blow. 

“Bilbo?” he said gently, putting the basin on the crate that had been brought in and placed beside his cot. 

Bilbo looked up at him, still looking as stunned as he had been when they'd come down from the hill. 

“How are you feeling?” Thorin asked him, concerned. He had a rather large bump on his forehead, and a smaller one on the back of his head. It appeared he had been hit, knocked back, and had cracked his head on a rock when he'd fallen. 

“I'm all right,” he replied, smiling weakly at Thorin, who could tell that he wasn't as all right as he'd asserted. “My head hurts, and I'm a little foggy, I'm afraid. Shock, I think.”

“You've been in many fights along the way, Bilbo, but this was your first proper battle,” Thorin said as he worked, pouring water into the now empty basin, adding some of the herbs Oin had given him before wetting a cloth, using it to wipe the blood away from Bilbo's face. 

The slice across Thorin's head had been stitched up swiftly, but he had sustained no other injuries, and Oin had insisted that Bilbo would be fine, commanding Thorin to take him someplace quiet and clean him up. 

So Thorin had done just that, and Bilbo had gone along without protesting. 

“Okay, now strip,” Thorin said, once he'd cleaned all the blood from Bilbo's face and slathered some salve across the gash on his head. 

“Oh, of course,” Bilbo said, and Thorin helped him divest himself of his torn and bloodied jacket, lifting the precious mithril shirt over his head before pulling at his buttons insistently. 

“If this is your way of telling me you want me naked, you could have just asked,” Bilbo said with a smirk, some of his humour returning as the herbs and salve went to work.

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Bilbo was coming back to himself, and Thorin felt like he was too. All the madness of the previous days had been left behind, and his fear that it might return had dissipated, his doubts washed away in the flood of battle. 

“I'll only take you to bed if you wish it,” he said, allowing himself the pleasure of trailing his fingers across Bilbo's cheek and then down, back over his collarbone. 

“I wish it,” Bilbo said, standing up and tugging at the fresh tunic that Oin had forced on him, which Thorin had taken with pleasure.

“Are you certain?” Thorin asked carefully, his hands trailing upwards once more, to cup Bilbo's cheeks carefully, his cock filling at the thought of Bilbo's hands on his skin once more. It had been too long, and there were far too many bad memories between them that must be banished. “Oin said only that you must not go to sleep just yet.”

“I'm asking, Thorin. Keep me awake,” Bilbo's eyes were clear and earnest, and Thorin could no longer resist him. He leaned down and took Bilbo's mouth with his, slipping his tongue past Bilbo's slack lips to taste him for the first time in a week. Perhaps it had not been that long in the grand scheme of things, but to Thorin it felt like a lifetime ago. They had been through so much since then, that he almost didn’t know where to begin. 

Fortunately, his hands knew what they were doing. They fell from Bilbo's face and onto his shoulders, tracing lines down Bilbo's chest and across his belly, which had shrunk during their travels, going from a soft plumpness to a flat, muscled expanse. Thorin liked him both ways, though he wished the lack of food and the constant exercise hadn't been necessary. 

But Bilbo would be going home soon, and once in the Shire he would no doubt regain the softness that had so enthralled Thorin during their first encounter. Bilbo's hands slid under his tunic, bunching it up as he pushed it up, over Thorin's navel and his chest, and Thorin lifted his hands, pulling it off the rest of the way, shivering at the feeling of Bilbo's warm hands on his skin. 

Bilbo tugged him down for another kiss, and Thorin went eagerly, his hands moving by instinct, making quick work of Bilbo's trousers, letting them fall to the floor of the tent along with his underclothes. A wisp of chill air told him that Bilbo had been just as successful with his trousers, and suddenly they were both naked, with Bilbo pressed flush against him, their cocks brushing and rubbing between their bodies. 

Thorin bent his legs, sliding until he was kneeling on the floor, pressing kisses and sucking bites onto Bilbo's skin, lavishing him with all the care he could manage, sliding his mouth down until Bilbo's cock bumped his chin. 

“Thorin, ahhh...” Bilbo's legs were shaky, so Thorin grasped his hips, pushing them back until he sat on the cot and then fell back onto it, the shift of position making Bilbo's cock scrape across Thorin's chin and cheek before bobbing onto his stomach. Thorin bent down further, letting his tongue and lips play over the tender skin underneath before sucking at Bilbo's sac, the skin velvet under his tongue as he pushed at the globes inside.

Bilbo's hands fell heavily onto his head, his fingers grasping and clenching but not finding any purchase in the slippery strands of Thorin's hair. He nosed the sack up, sucking more firmly on the patch below it, thinking about going further, but deciding against it. That path led to things that were better done at a later time, a time when Bilbo was not potentially concussed, when the battle was further from their minds, and sights and smells cleansed from their bodies completely. 

A sharp tug on his hair had Thorin sitting up, swiping his tongue up Bilbo's cock from root to tip before taking the head in his mouth, letting his tongue play with the underside as he slid down, drawing in as much of Bilbo as he could. 

Bilbo's shaky groan was a thrill. Thorin hadn't realised how much he had missed these sounds, his time under the thrall of the gold had dulled his senses, everything had been foggy and hazy, sounds muted and sights darkened. Only the glint of the gold had retained any warmth, any light. 

It was like he'd come alive again. The battle had come so swiftly on the heels of his awakening that he hadn't really had time to understand the change, to comprehend that the world was once again bright and vivid, all that the gold had dulled was made new once more. 

He bobbed his head, working as much saliva as he could around the shaft in his mouth, surrounding Bilbo in a wet, sucking heat, working with flicks of his tongue to draw Bilbo's climax from him. 

It arrived quickly. Bilbo tugged on his hair again and came with a shout, painting the inside of Thorin's mouth with salty release. 

Thorin groaned at the sharpness of him, the taste of Bilbo heavy on his tongue as he continued his ministrations, more gently now, with as much loving tenderness as he could provide, knowing well that Bilbo was extra sensitive in the aftermath. The familiarity of Bilbo's responses made an ache rise up inside him. This kind of intimacy was better than anything else, worth everything that Thorin had to give. It was more intense and all consuming than Thorin could ever have imagined before Bilbo had come into his life. 

He let go at last, letting Bilbo's softened cock fall from his reddened lips reluctantly, kissing his way back up over Bilbo's chest, stopping along the way to suck a suck a bruise onto his neck, before continuing and capturing Bilbo's soft lips, kissing him deeply as he frotted eagerly against Bilbo's thigh. He was patient though, they had the time and he knew that Bilbo would stir soon enough. 

It wasn't long before he did, dragging his fingers up Thorin's arms only to push them down his chest to grasp his cock where it lay, hot and heavy on Bilbo’s belly. 

“Up, up,” Bilbo urged, his hand insistent on Thorin's hips. The thought of Bilbo's hot mouth wrapped around him was all the inducement he needed to comply so he crawled upwards, letting his cock drag teasingly against Bilbo's chest and neck, watching with fascination as he left a wet smear on Bilbo's cheek. Bilbo's mouth had opened wide, his lips grasping along Thorin's shaft as he adjusted his position, letting the tip slide at last into Bilbo's waiting mouth. A groan was torn from his throat as the soft pad of Bilbo's tongue rolled around the sensitive head. 

Then Bilbo took him down, pulling Thorin in with eager hands until he was pressed flush against the back of his lover's throat. He pulled back, his wide eyes taking in the sight of his shaft sliding out, pulling at Bilbo's lips before slipping back in, this time Bilbo pulled harder at him, his fingers digging into Thorin's cheeks, his eyes filled with a heated challenge, meeting Thorin's boldly.

Thorin let himself be pulled, Bilbo guiding him deeper until he was pushing against the back of Bilbo's throat and then even further, swallowing around the head of Thorin's cock as it slid down to the hilt, Bilbo's lips a brazen red around the base of his cock. 

A ragged sound was wrenched form him, all the sensations pulling together into one overwhelming whole. His cock pulsed as he came down Bilbo's throat, the release stunning him with its force, leaving his limbs weak. 

He pulled back, sensible of the vulnerable position of Bilbo below him, panting heavily, his cock twitching even as it slid from Bilbo's mouth. He fell to the side, his body limp as the after shocks of sensation shivered through him. 

He let the quiet and the peace of having Bilbo beside him lull him into a light doze, and then he remembered Oin's instructions. Bilbo had hit his head hard, twice, and his foggy confusion after the adrenaline had worn off pointed to a possible concussion. 

“Hey, no sleep just yet,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo a shake to wake him up. 

“But I'm sleepy,” Bilbo murmured groggily.

“Yes, but you are likely concussed, and Oin said you had to stay awake for a few more hours yet.”

“If you want me to stay awake, you should not have given me a mind numbing orgasm.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Thorin said, smirking at Bilbo's sleepy, disgruntled face. That face was so very precious to him, and he wanted to soak up as much of it as possible. Then he noticed that Bilbo's eyes had slid shut again. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin said. “Wake up.”

“Oh, come on,” Bilbo snapped with a frown. “It's been hours since I was knocked out.”

“I would rather not take any chances with your well being,” Thorin told him, sitting up on the bed and pulling Bilbo upright, positioning him between his legs, propping Bilbo's back against his chest. 

He revelled in the smooth skin pressed against him, still amazed by how little hair was on it. From the mop on his head and the lush fur on his feet, one would assume that he would have more hair on the rest of his body, but it seemed that Hobbit hair was draw to the top and bottom of them. There was a smattering over Bilbo's chest, a light dusting on his arms and legs, and a small fuzzy thatch under each arm and between his legs. It was still a novelty, even after all the time they'd spent together. 

He was pleased to see how few bruises marred Bilbo's skin. The head injury seemed to be the extent of Bilbo's injuries, and he whispered a prayer of thanks to the Creator for protecting his One that day.

“Talk to me, Bilbo,” he said, rubbing at Bilbo's skin roughly. Thorin was exhausted as well, but some things were more important than rest. He would endure. He would do anything that Bilbo needed. 

Even let him go. 

In truth, it was probably fine by now, Bilbo's exhaustion seemed genuine, unlike his earlier lethargy. And yet, he wanted to hold on to the moment for just a little bit longer. Now that the battle was over and the mountain was secure, he knew that their time was coming to an end. 

“Tell me about the Shire,” Thorin encouraged. “I did not see much of it when we were there, though I admit, what I did see I found beautiful.” Hearing about the Shire would be painful for Thorin, but it would make Bilbo happy, and that was Thorin's greatest goal, in the end. 

“It is beautiful,” Bilbo agreed. “I have seen many exceptional sights on this journey, and I do not regret a minute of it, but the Shire still fills my heart with longing. It's filled with rolling hills and little rivers. It's all fresh and so alive, the forests green and lush. Wide fields of grain and vegetables nestled into temperate valleys.”

“It sounds positively idyllic,” Thorin commented, letting his fingers trace across Bilbo's chest idly. “And very green.”

“Oh yeah, green is the main shade on the palate for sure, but there are bursts of colour everywhere. The trees blossom in the spring, pink, yellow, white, they're amazing. There are flowering bushes of every hue and vines that spread their colours like splashed of paint on canvas. There are flower meadows buzzing with bees, swathes of different colours, every colour of the rainbow. All of those colours are reflected in the paint on our doors, and they all blend into such a kaleidoscope of life, it just fills you up with contentment.”

“I understand the feeling,” Thorin said, thinking about the days past, when Erebor was still filled with life. “The memory of the Erebor of my youth burns inside me like an ember. No matter where the path has led me, I've always kept that close, knowing that one day, I would make my way back there.”

“And you did,” Bilbo said, his voice sleepy.

“Thanks to you,” Thorin said, smiling, although it was tinged with grief. Bilbo was falling asleep again, and this time, Thorin didn't have the heart to wake him. He wrapped his arms around Bilbo's torso, pressing his face into his neck, breathing him in. He let his love overcome him, even as the oncoming wave of grief threatened, hovering so near. 

“All right,” he said at last, whispering the words into Bilbo's skin. “Let's sleep.”

“Finally,” Bilbo murmured, his head lolling against Thorin's chest. Thorin chuckled, shifting them to the side to tug the blanket out from under him, then shifting back, laying Bilbo's head on the pillow and snuggling close, wrapping the blanket around both of them.

This was one of Thorin's favourite things. Falling asleep with Bilbo warm and slack beside him, his chest moving with every deep, slumbering breath, his pulse slow and steady and thrumming through Thorin's veins with every beat of Bilbo's heart. 

He wasn't sure what he was going to miss the most, but this feeling, the lack of it, this would always ache, on every night that he slept alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This one came pretty smoothly, how cool is that? Of course, I used the fact that it was Mother's Day to escape to the coffee shop and pluck away at it. Got this one done and filled in some holes later on, too. We're definitely nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, but this fic will not end with the movie timeline. Still have some things to work out.


End file.
